All That's Known
by BellatrixxNarcissa
Summary: Sequel to "Spring and Summer", Melchior Gabor finds himself alone in New York with his baby daughter and no one to help him and no hope left. However, when he meets an old friend, things might turn around.
1. An Ending, A Beginning

Her eyes are closed. Her hand is still. Her mouth trembles ever so slightly, and then goes back to its fixed place. Her skin is so pale. Her face is hot, burning with fever.

Wendla. How could this be happening to you?

I grasp your hand as the doctor puts another cool cloth on your forehead. You tremble slightly at the touch, though your eyes remaining closed.

"Her temperature is very high." The doctor says quietly. "I will stay on to try and break the fever but I cannot promise anything."

I look up at him. His name is Doctor Wheston, his hair grey already and he squints at me from over his tiny spectacles. "Yes, thank you sir." I say slowly, looking back at you.

"I suggest that you move away from the bed." The doctor continues. "This fever is highly contagious, you wouldn't want to catch it."

"No, thank you sir, I'll sit with Wendla." I say immediately. As if there was ever any doubt about it. He mumbles something incomprehensible and walks out of the room.

I don't know how long I have sat on this chair, how long I have held your hand, Wendla, but I will not let go until you sit up and tell me that you are going to be alright. But you just lie there, as if the world is going right by, letting my world fall apart.

It's all my fault. I should have taken you to the doctor the minute that your fever returned. But I thought that it would just pass, like all the others. But instead, you became warmer until you collapsed on the floor yesterday. I went for the doctor immediately, but we all knew that it was too late. That you should have been seen to long before.

And you have been in this bed, still as marble ever since.

"Papa?" A timid voice calls me from the doorway and I look round to see my tiny daughter gripping onto the doorframe to stay upright.

"Come here, Ilse." I say, getting up and walking over to the doorway to scoop her up and take her to sit with me on the chair. She looks sideways at Wendla.

"Mama!" She cries, reaching out her short arms to try and touch her but I pull her back.

"No, Ilse." I whisper to her. "Mama is sick, we have to be quiet." I demonstrate by shushing against my finger and she copies. "Good girl." I lean her back to lie against my chest and rock her until her breathing becomes rhythmic and I know she is asleep.

My little girl. If Wendla… is no longer able to live normally, how will I look after Ilse? Ilse is so special to me, I cannot let her be harmed, yet me raising her alone can be enough to harm her. Wendla is naturally a mother. She knows what foods Ilse is allergic to, when to put her to bed, what to do if she is crying. I will hurt Ilse if I am made to look after her on my own. I cannot be a good father alone.

I hear a sudden murmur and look over. Wendla, you are moving. You churn a bit and open one eye, then the other. Wendla, can you see me? Can you see Ilse? You must be able to, because you start to slowly smile.

"Melchi." Your voice comes out in a croak.

I lean forward, careful not to disturb Ilse and take your hand again. "I'm here, Wendla."

You look down at Ilse who is deep in sleep, completely oblivious to the world. "She's so lovely when she sleeps, isn't she?"

I look down at our daughter and my own smile comes out. "She is. She truly is." I look back up at you. "Do you want to hold her?"

You shake your head. "No. I don't want to make her sick. Put her in her cradle."

I nod and get up to place Ilse in her cradle, covering her with a shawl. Ilse murmurs slightly, then rolls over and her face is peaceful with sleep again, then walk back to sit next to you.

You stop, watching Ilse a bit. "I so wanted to see her grow up." You say quietly and I look up at you. "See her dance for the first time, her first sentences. All that."

"Wendla, don't say that." I take your hand again. "You will see her grow up."

You smile but shake your head sadly. "We both know I won't."

"No, Wendla, please don't say that!" I cry, my voice breaking. "Don't! You will make it, I know it!"

You pull your hand away to rest it on my cheek, wiping away the stray tear. "Don't cry, Melchi." You whisper. "Please don't cry."

I take a deep breath and look at you again. "I won't cry."

You smile and look over to Ilse. "Treat her well, Melchi, please." You whisper, taking my hand again. "She will grow up to be a beautiful girl, just treat her well."

"I promise." I croak, fighting back tears.

She looks back at me suddenly. "I love you, Melchi. I always have and I always will, even where I'm going."

I lean down and kiss her forehead. "You are everything to me." I whisper. She puts her hand on the back of my head and pulls me down to kiss her on her warm lips. We kiss, one last resort kiss, after everything else had been lost. We lose ourselves a bit, concentrating only on the feeling of each other.

Her arm goes limp and falls to her side. Her lips stop moving. I pull away to look at her and her eyes are closed.

No. She can't have…

No.

"Doctor!" I cry, standing up. "Doctor, come in here quickly!"

The door opens and the old man hurries in to stand by the bed, pressing his hand on her forehead.

"She might be alright, but I need to check." He breathes. "Perhaps you and your daughter would like to wait outside until I have finished."

I nod. "Yes doctor." I turn and walk over to the cradle to pick Ilse up and carry her out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I go to sit on out sofa a bit and rock Ilse around in my arms. She murmurs something quietly and rests her head on my chest.

Wendla. I can't do this without her. I can't provide money or food for Ilse and be a father. The blacksmith is strict about hours, I can't take care of Ilse and keep my job. But I can't take care of Ilse without keeping my job…

Stop thinking about this. You're scaring yourself. Get it together, Melchior. If you could do it in the hell that they called school, you can do it now.

The door opens. An answer is ready.

I stand up, Ilse still in my arms and walk to meet the doctor right outside the room.

"How is she?" I say and he looks up at me.

"I'm afraid that Wendla has passed." He whispers, touching my shoulder. "I am so sorry. I can see myself out." He walks past me to the front door.

But I can barely hear him. Those words just go round my head.

_Wendla has passed._

_Wendla has passed. Wendla has passed. Wendla has passed._

.

It can't be true. It can't be.

Not you, Wendla.

I throw the door of the bedroom open and put Ilse in her cradle. I can't turn around and face you. I won't be able to bear it.

I have to.

I have to sometime.

I slowly turn and see you. So still, so pale. Not even the sound of even breaths coming from you.

I walk closer until I am standing on your bedside and just stare at you.

Then my knees buckle. I fall to the floor, my head against the bed and let out all of the fear that I have been keeping in myself for the past few hours. I scream with anger that I should have taken care of you better. I cry with hate at the fever that killed you. I sob with sadness that I have to live in this world without you. I don't stop. I can't stop.

But I do.

Something stops me. A sound.

"Papa?"

I turn and see Ilse sitting up in her cradle, her hand clasped around the side bar to keep herself up.

"Papa?" She asks again, cocking her head to one side.

I stand up and take you into my arms.

I will make it. Only because of you, little Ilse. I will make it for you.

I lean forward and place a kiss on your forehead and hold you close.

I will make it come hell or high water.

I promise.

* * *

**A/N I had this idea a while ago and only now have I finally written it! Tell me what you think! x**


	2. Voice

Don't cry, Melchior. Not when Ilse is looking at you like that.

Don't.

They lower the coffin into the ground.

I can't watch but I have to. I can't show anything I'm feeling for Ilse's sake. She'll get so scared if I do.

The men begin to dig the pile of dirt back into the coffin and I shift Ilse around in my arms. I asked for no priest in this service because neither Wendla nor I believed in God.

Wendla…

It's too hot today, too late in the afternoon for me to be wearing this coat. However, it was the only piece of black clothing I owned.

They finish filling the hole and we bow our heads. Ilse picks up a leaf that has fallen on my shoulder and looks at it before ripping it in half. Delighted with her little game, she throws the pieces behind her and claps, giggling.

I look down and shush her, we have to be quiet. The other people at the service walk past me, patting my shoulder, kissing Ilse and whispering rushed apologies and condolences. I am stuck to the ground, unable to move, rooted to the spot, only looking at the now covered hole, littered with flowers.

_Turn around, Melchior._

What was that?

_Turn around. You'll hurt yourself if you stay longer._

What was that voice? It was a boy's voice, perhaps even a man's.

_She's not gone, Melchior, she's not gone. Go home and take care of your daughter. She needs you._

I know this voice. It's dazed, in a dream, somewhat unconfident.

_Go, Melchior. _

I know it so well.

_Melchior…_

Moritz.


	3. A Visitor

"Moritz." I breathe. Ilse stops playing with another leaf to look at me confusedly.

"Morees?" She cocks her head to the side.

What was that voice? I defiantly heard something. I looked around but no-one was there, not close enough to have said that. And it sounded exactly like… Moritz.

Melchior, stop it. This is ridiculous, you're imagining things. It's the grief, it's making your mind do things. Look at yourself now, standing in the middle of a cemetery, holding your daughter, wondering if you heard the voice of your deceased best friend talking to you.

"Come, Ilse." I whisper, looking down at my daughter. "Let's go home."

* * *

The house is so empty. What was once a merry place filled with sounds of doors slamming, my whistling and the sound of Wendla talking to Ilse is now a silent cave, dark and daunting. I put Ilse to nap in her bedroom and go back downstairs to sit on the sofa.

At this time of day, Wendla would have taken Ilse to nap while I ran down the road to fetch some vegetables from the greengrocer's. Then Wendla and I would settle down in the kitchen to make dinner. Afterwards we would go together to wake Ilse up and bring her down to eat. Then, when Ilse was asleep at night, we would come down here to just talk, for hours on end, until we both got too tired to speak and headed up to bed for the night.

But now I sit alone on this sofa, I sleep alone at night. I make dinner in the company of silence. I am lost in this world, made bigger by Wendla leaving. I look over at the blue armchair. Wendla always sat there. She said it had good light for her to work on her sewing or to read.

A bell. The doorbell. I stand up and walk towards the door, where the bell above it is swinging to and fro and pull it open with a turn.

"Sarah." I smile wearily at the girl standing in front of me. Sarah lives with her father and has been our neighbor since we arrived and was a good friend of Wendla's.

"Hello, Melchior." She says, thrusting forward a covered tray. "This is for you. May I come in?"

"Of course." I stand aside and let her walk past me, her blonde hair trailing behind her. I guide her to the living room and she sits on the other side of the sofa from me. I lean forward and put the tray on the table.

"I am so sorry, Melchior." She looks at me sympathetically. "Wendla was such an amazing person, I'm going to miss her a lot."

I nod and give a wry smile. "So am I."

She nods towards the tray. "That's dinner, for you and Ilse. I didn't know if you were up to cooking a meal, so I thought I could help in some way."

I look at the tray. "Thank you so much Sarah, it smells delicious."

She smiles and stands up. "I'd best be gone." She announces, brushing down her dress. "Father said that I had to come straight back, but feel free to come by for a visit. You're always welcome."

"I will." I promise as we walk towards the door. I hold it open for her and she steps out into the darkening evening.

"Goodbye Melchior." She says and turns to walk over to her house. I shut the door behind her and walk back to the sofa and pick up the tray, feeling strange.

With Sarah's visit, something had changed. Perhaps, a part of how it used to be had come back and it felt less melancholy in the house.

And, like that, I don't feel as dead as I did before.

* * *

**A/N GUESS WHAT GUYS?**

**I got a new power cable! **

**ughh it was such a relief to write again, when it was broken, I had all these ideas, so I've pretty much written most of this book, just in my head :3**


	4. Failure

Work at the blacksmith's is continuous and tiring. As I hit at the piece of metal for what seems to be the millionth time today, my mind only stays with Ilse. It's always like this. At least when Wendla was around, I was never nervous about her. I knew that Wendla would never do anything to hurt her. And even though I know that Mrs Bennet, who I had left Ilse with, was a kind and gentle woman, I couldn't stop worrying about her.

"Clock time, men." Mr Hadley, our supervisor, comes round to our end of the shop and calls out and around me is a chorus of sighs and metal banging as the other men put their tools away. I breathe out and put down my hammer, leaning against the wall as I do so. He comes over towards me.

"Mighty fine piece you got there, Gabor." He says, inspecting the glowing piece of metal that I have been slaving to turn into a horseshoe.

"Thank you, sir." I breathe, out of breath.

He looks up at me. "You're the one with the kid, aren't you?" He has drink on his breath.

I nod and straighten myself out. "Yes, I have a daughter."

"What's her name?"

"Ilse, sir."

"German name, eh? How old is she?"

"She was two years on the seventh, sir."

"You seem awfully young. She with her mother now?" He eyes me with something I can't describe.

"I am eighteen, sir. And no, she is not with her mother now."

"Why?" He laughs mockingly. "She do a runner? Decided she didn't want to look after your daughter and then left you?"

"No, sir, that is not it at all." I reply angrily. "She – "

"I know!" He says, interrupting me. "She's not your love, she's your whore! She can't look after your child because she has so many other appointments with so many other men!"

I jump on him, my hands round his neck, squeezing as hard as I can. I hear the startled cries of the men around me but I don't care. I just want to kill him for saying those things. I wanted him to suffer, to know my pain. I reach one arm up, curl my hand into a fist and throw it onto his face. Once I start doing that, I can't stop. Even when I see blood, I can't stop. If he was hurting, that was fine with me.

"Melchior, stop, you'll kill him!" A voice cries and I feel four hands wrap round my shoulders, pulling me up to land on my feet, arms restraining me to go back down there and finish what I had started. I just wanted that bastard to die.

"SHE WAS NOT A WHORE!" I scream down at him, pushing against the restraining arms trying to hold me back. "I LOVED HER SO MUCH AND SHE DIED! SHE'S DEAD!" My voice is dangerously close to breaking. "I LOVED HER MORE THAN A BASTARD LIKE YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE!"

The bastard sat up, looking dazed and pointed at me. "Gabor, you are fired! I will not tolerate violence in my business!"

I break away from the constraints and march past him, grabbing my satchel as I walk out into the street, without so much as a look back. Only when I am safely on the other side of the street do I allow myself to think.

I just lost my job. I just lost the last thing that me or my daughter could depend on. My breathing becomes ragged and I walk through the cool autumn evening back to my neighborhood. I reach Mrs Bennet's house and pause before I knock on the door. Can I look at my daughter, knowing that I failed her? I'll have to.

I knock twice on the door and it's opened by Mrs Bennet herself.

"Mr Gabor!" She smiles at me and brushes away a strand of graying hair from her face. "Ilse is just back here, I'll get her. She's just had her dinner."

She walks away, turning in time for me to see Ilse toddling around the corridor. She sees me and a huge, toothy smile breaks out upon her face.

"Papa!" She squeals and waddles over to me. I kneel down and hold my arms out and she falls into them, her arms around my neck.

"Did she behave well?" I ask Mrs Bennet as I stand up, Ilse's head against my shoulder.

"She was a right angel." She smiles down at Ilse. "Oh, and I read her this book and she seemed to really like it." Mrs Bennet reaches behind her and picks up a whimsically colored book and hands it to me. "It's called Peter Pan, it's a British book but very good for children. Ilse adored it."

"Thank you, Mrs Bennet." I turn to leave but she jumps forward.

"What time tomorrow will you be leaving Ilse?" She asks, folding her hands.

I turn, my usual reply of "around nine" on my tongue but find myself saying "I'll look after her tomorrow, I don't have work."

"Alright." She nods. "Shame. I'll miss her." She smiles and starts to close the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I turn and walk round to our house and unlock the door. Ilse has fallen asleep in my arms so I go straight up to her room and put her to sleep in her crib. She opens her eyes for a moment, grabs her beloved doll and rolls over to go back to sleep. I watch her for a moment then take a step back.

"I'm sorry, Ilse." I whisper. "I'm so sorry that I failed you."

I turn away and walk downstairs to my desk to pull out my old journal that I used when I was younger and to my utter surprise, begin to write.

**7th October 1894**

**What is childhood? Is it a phase, an age, a state of mind? Do we ever really grow up from it? Are we still, beneath our layers of responsibility and strength, playful and vulnerable children inside? Were these children ever really children themselves, or merely strong adults in a younger shell. Did our parents never teach us anything, or did we never wish to know?**

**Children, when kept in a small place for too long, grow with a twisted view on life. We begin to see what the Adults haven't told us and act on it. We begin to love, to look upon people with feelings of passion instead of simple friendship. We begin to cherish our friends, as we have learnt for ourselves that there could come a time when they are no longer there. We begin to hate strongly, to be able to see beneath a person's charm to the wicked at their core. We begin to question all that's know, religion, history, science. We begin to see our adults less as people to guide us, but more as people to command us, condemn us, blind men. We were awake then. **

**But, alas, this has its consequences. Deaths, births, loss of innocence, warped lives, thrown around by these questions, questions we never asked because we were afraid of what the answer would be. Being awake and aware of the world means that you are more vulnerable to pain. It means you are more vulnerable to emotions that you would rather lock out, such as sadness, such as lust, such as anger. But, I believe, these are the emotions that will truly help us grow properly. Being shaded from the world, you can never grow to have them. And without them, you are but an innocent, carefree child. **

_It's good, Melchior. _

The voice again. It's Moritz, I can hear it.

I smile. "Thank you, Moritz."

* * *

**A/N Here it is! Soz the diary is in bold, I was already using Italics for moritz and underlined was hard to read. **

**The diary was hardd, like Melchior is a really good writer and i wanted to echo that so the diary must have taken like two hours alone. But I loved this chapter to write, so please review!**


	5. I Promise

The paper creases in my hand but I look hard. Job openings. Nothing. Not a single one that I could do. They all require a work license, something I don't have. The blacksmith gave me the job because I was strong but I never needed a license and it was going to be difficult to get one since I'm not American.

I sigh and put down the paper in time to see Ilse waddling round from the sofa.

She looks up at me. "Hungy." She declares, her head raised high.

I smile and scoop her up. "Are you hungry, Ilse?"

She nods. "Dinna."

"Alright, what do you want for dinner?" I ask, holding her closer.

The reply is instant. "Kayats!"

Of course, her beloved mashed carrots, her only favorite food. Trust her to choose them over all the others. But, being fair, she hasn't had them in a while.

"Alright Ilse, come, let's see if we can get your carrots." I lift her up to rest on my hip then walk towards the kitchen. I put her in her small chair and look in the vegetable cupboard. No carrots there. I look in all the other cupboards but there is nothing. Not a single carrot.

I look down at Ilse. "Sorry, Ilse, there aren't any carrots. We can have them tomorrow night instead."

She looks up, her face scandalized. "No kayats?"

"No carrots. We can have peas instead, though."

She looks down and murmurs "Yes."

I stop for a moment and look at her. "Come on, Ilse." I pick her out of her chair. "Let's go shopping."

Ilse claps her hands as I leave her by the door, then go to get my satchel with my money in it. I grab it, grab Ilse and head out of the door.

When I get to the greengrocer, it's full of people. I wrestle my way through the crowd with Ilse under my arm and try to get to the carrots. When Ilse sees them she squeals, reaching for them. I grab two without bruises on them and go to the counter. While in the queue, I shift round awkwardly to try and get to my money in my satchel. That should be three dollars. I pick out the notes and move around again to put the rest of my money back.

"Ah, hello Mr Gabor." The Greengrocer's wife smiles at me. "Carrots for the little one?"

"Yes, Ma'am." I smile and put the satchel on the counter, giving my arm a break. I hand her the three dollars and she takes it, handing the carrots to Ilse who waves them around.

"Have a good evening, Mr Gabor." She says and I turn, to walk out of the shop. I hear her behind me cry "Closing in ten minutes!"

"There we are, Ilse." I say as we head out into the darkening evening. "Told you I would get your carrots."

Ilse giggles and rests her head against my chest and we walk towards out neighborhood.

Wait. Did I leave home without my satchel?

_Yes, you did, Melchior. _

It's that voice. Moritz's voice.

_It's at home safe and sound, where you left it. _

No, I'm sure I had it.

_You didn't have it, Melchior. Before you went out, you took the money and then went to the greengrocer. _

Did I really?

_Yes. Trust me on this one. _

I'm not sure…

_Melchior, would I ever bring you misfortune?_

Alright. I secure my grip on Ilse and walk back the few hundred meters to our home.

When we get inside, I put Ilse in her chair and get to work cutting the carrots and boiling them up to make them softer and easier for her to eat. I hand her one on a spoon and she opens her mouth wide, smiling as she chews.

"Yummy." She says, her mouth full of carrot.

"Ilse, swallow before you talk." I laugh at her, scooping up the excess carrot around her mouth.

After she's fed, I carry her upstairs to put her to bed. When she's asleep, I walk back down the stairs to my desk, to continue writing. I have been writing so much, I can hardly believe it myself.

Wait. My journal isn't here. I look everywhere, under the papers, in the drawers. It's nowhere to be found.

Think, Melchi, think. Where was the last time you had it?

My stomach drops. My satchel.

It's nowhere either. I must have left it at the greengrocer.

Oh my God. What a mess.

I grab my coat and walk out into the night, hoping to find it open. But, of course, the windows are bolted, the fence is up, the vegetables put away.

I walk back to the house feeling defeated. All of my work over the years, gone. Just like that. By one careless mistake. Someone probably picked the satchel up and took it home, hoping to find money in it.

Another lunge in my stomach. The money. There were about forty dollars in that satchel. How could I afford to misplace it?

Maybe the voice wasn't Moritz. Maybe it was just my imagination, telling me what I want to hear. It hadn't brought me anything good, had it?

I rub my face and run back to the house. In the dim light, I see a figure on the doorstep. Perhaps it's Sarah. No, this is broader. A man, with a large mustache and small spectacles. As I walk up, he turns and greets me with a smile.

"Ah! Are you Melchior Gabor?" His mustache twitches as he talks.

"I am." I reply uneasily. I am not used to strangers knocking at the door.

He laughs. "I have something that belongs to you." He reaches into his coat and pulls out a leather object. My satchel. "I was in the greengrocer and I asked who you were and said I would return it personally."

I smile and take the satchel. "Thank you so much, sir. I was afraid I had lost it."

"You be careful, now. I saw you had a child, won't want to go round misplacing her, would you?" He laughs a deep-bellied laugh.

"I am very grateful to you, sir." I make to move towards the door but he stops me.

"I must ask… the journal in there, did you write it?" He points to the satchel.

"Yes, sir."

"It's very good. You have talent, boy. The way you write makes people believe what you're saying."

"You read it?" I breathe.

"I did. And I want to offer you a space on my newspaper, The New York Times." He smiles triumphantly.

"Excuse me?" I cannot believe what I am hearing.

"It's a good job. You do two or three articles for forty dollars a week. You need only come in on weekends to hand in your work and get reviewed, so you can spend time with your daughter."

"Sir, that would be incredible!" I fluster out. "But are you sure you want me?"

He comes closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Son, I have seen many writers in my time but none had shined as brightly as you. I mean, you're what, eighteen? And you can write like that! You shine, Melchior. My newspaper is very prestigious too, I wouldn't be giving weekly articles to people who didn't shine, would I?"

"T-thank you, sir!" I laugh out loud.

He smiles at me over his spectacles. "Well then. I must be off. I'll send the work license tomorrow."

He walks down the steps, leaving me on the porch with my mouth gaping open and my satchel in hand.

I had just become a writer. I had dreamed about this for the past four years and now finally, it was here. A job. A work license. A chance to be a good father and provide for my daughter. For Ilse.

_Told you that you hadn't forgotten your satchel. _

I smile and race inside, up to Ilse's bedroom.

She's sleeping. Her soft brown hair is scattered over the pillow. Her hands rest on the mattress. Her legs are curled up, her head pointing down at them. Her mouth is partly open and her eyes are closed. I get a strange, yet familiar feeling in my chest.

It's the feeling I had when I held her for the first time. When she laughed for the first time. When she took her first steps. When she got her first tooth. When she said Papa, and pointed at me. When she sang her first song. Whenever she smiles.

She is so beautiful. I have tried so hard over the years to build a new world, out of my old ugly one for her and now, she might be able to live in it.

I reach into the crib and pick her up, holding her against my chest. She stirs a bit but stays asleep.

"Ilse." I whisper, stroking her hair back. "Your world will be beautiful. I promise."


	6. Ilse Wendy BergmanGabor

Life is finally looking up. After months of darkness, I have come out into a light bright as day.

My article has become a success. When the first one printed, The New York Times received many praising letters. Apparently, the public enjoy reading them because I write about the subjects that they would never bring up. I send cutouts of my articles to everyone in Germany. They can't understand English, and when they saw my name there in the newspaper, they wrote, asking if I was in legal trouble.

Anna writes to me a lot. It's comforting to have a piece of my old life with me constantly but it's so strange to see how she speaks. She writes less as a silly schoolgirl and more as a mature lady. All is going well with her, as she is to marry Otto in a few months' time.

I have also been speaking to Sarah a lot. She was such a good source of comfort when I was getting into the job. She is really what I need right now, funny and caring. Ilse, however, seems unsure about her. She looks at Sarah with a suspicious expression, her head cocked to one side and doesn't like being held by her. Sarah gives the appearance that she's alright about it but I can see it annoys her a bit, as she is usually very sweet to Ilse. Oh well. I suppose only time can fix them.

"What do you want to read tonight, Ilse?" I ask, sitting next to her on my bed. She looks over at the bookshelf and points at the corner of it.

"Peeta Pan!" She squeals. I get up and go to the shelf. Peter Pan. Of course, the one Mrs Bennet gave me. I had forgotten about that.

"You want Peter Pan?" I hold the book up for her to see and she nods vigorously. "Alright then." I say, jumping back onto the bed, making her bounce and giggle. "Let's start." I open the book at the place where a leather blue bookmark is rested and start to read.

"His way was to pursue birds who had food in their mouths suitable for humans and snatch it from them; then the birds would follow and snatch it back; and they would all go chasing each other gaily for miles, parting at last with mutual expressions of good-will. But Wendy noticed with gentle… with gentle…" I trail off, lost in thought. Ilse shakes my arm, trying to bring me back.

Wendy. It's the same name as Wendla. It's the English version.

"Papa." She shakes my arm. "Papa, Wendee. Wendee." She repeats.

I look down at her. "What's your name?" I ask with a smile.

"Ilse!" She jumps up on the bed, so full of pride at her identity.

"That's right. Ilse Bergman-Gabor." I stop, in thought again. "Ilse… Wendy. Ilse Wendy Bergman-Gabor. Do you like that?"

She looks confused. "Wendy?"

I smile down at her. "Yes. Ilse Wendy."

She smiles and curls up against my arm. "My name?"

"If you like it."

She nods. "I laf you, Papa."

I put my arms around her and hold her close. "I love you, Ilse."

We it like that for a minute until she pulls away to look at me.

"Mama." She says, watching me.

"Mama what?" I ask, slightly apprehensive about the answer.

"Mama… where?"

"Ilse, what do you mean?"

"Where is Mama?" She looks almost upset now.

"I don't know, Ilse." I have no idea what she's talking about so I decide to try a different approach. "Where do you think Mama is?"

Ilse thinks for a moment. "Sleeping!" She declares. "Mama is sleeping!"

My blood turns cold as her words remind me of that night. "No, Ilse, Mama is not sleeping."

But Ilse barely hears me. "Mama is sleeping!" She shakes my arm, looking up at me. "Mama must wake up!"

I shake my head furiously. "Ilse, Mama is not sleeping." I make a show of looking at the clock in the corner of the room. "But you should be sleeping."

"No! No sleep!" She looks close to tears now. "I go wake Mama up!"

"Ilse, you can't!" I feel a lump in my throat. "You can't wake her up."

"Haf to!" She cries, a tear rolling down her face. "Haf to, I want Mama!"

I don't understand this. Wendla has been gone for eight months. How can Ilse remember her? How does she remember her sleeping?

"No, Ilse!" I cry, holding her close and wiping away her tears. "Don't cry, please don't cry."

But it's too late, she's sobbing into my shirt, saying muffled "Mama… I want Mama…"

Ilse cried herself to sleep that night and I kept her in my room with me, in case she woke up, upset again. I checked her temperature, she didn't have a fever so she couldn't have been delirious. But how did she remember Wendla? Children that age don't remember further back than a month. And if she did remember, she would never have remembered Wendla as a mother, so why was she so upset?

_Oh Ilse, my beautiful daughter, please don't cry. _

A voice again. I jump up in bed, leaving Ilse curled up alone next to me. It wasn't Moritz's voice. It's the voice I have been longing for for the past eight months.

Wendla.

* * *

**A/N Woow, new chapter update layout. confusing :/**

**And wooow, I did not plan this chapter to be like this, it all just came. I was babysitting my cousin who is just a bit younger than Ilse is here and She has a crisis like that today, except it was about her broccoli -.-. Apparently they do that because, while they are able to understand sentences, they can only speak simply, in words and small sentences, they still lack the means to properly communicate which means they get frustrated and have meltdowns like this. Annoying. **

**And, just FYI, I imagine each character to look like the OBC actor, like Melchior is Jonathan Groff (Mah husband 3) and Wendla is Lea Michele and Moritz is John Gallagher Jr and Martha is Lilli Cooper. Just FYI. **


	7. Hurts

I didn't hear Wendla's voice for the rest of the night, even though I stayed awake until sunrise. I was so desperate to hear it. It's a funny thing. You don't realize how much you miss something until you get a flash of it again and start to yearn for it more than before. I heard Moritz once, telling me to relax and let it be.

Ilse stayed asleep peacefully for the night, apart from one point where she started talking in her sleep, like she was having a conversation. The only things I could make out were "Wan you", "Mama" and "Missed".

I have thought about it and I still can't see how she remembers so much about Wendla. The next morning, it was like nothing happened. She was smiling, giggling and didn't say "Mama" or anything like that. I talked about it to Sarah.

"She might have vague memories of her mother." Sarah said. "I remember parts of my grandfather and he died eleven years ago. I mean" She looked over at Ilse, who was playing with her doll. "I don't remember as much as she obviously does but it must be the same thing."

Focus, Melchior. What were you writing again?

Ah yes, of course. Thoughts.

"Our thoughts…" I whisper, punching the key keys of the typewriter, then pushing it back to the front of the page. "Our thoughts are merely memories that… that…" I pause, looking at the wall in front of me then back at the typewriter. "Ah yes, that appear only now in our mind…"

Ilse is sitting down the hallway, on the sofa, playing with her stuffed kitten, muttering God-knows-what to herself.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud, sharp ring. I look up to see the doorbell moving. I sigh and stand up, walking over to the door. The article will have to wait.

"Good morning!" Sarah greets me with a huge smile.

"Hello, Sarah." I step away to let her come in.

"I just thought I would come to talk." She looks at the typewriter. "Unless you were busy…"

"No! No. It's lovely to have you." I lead her into the living room and walk over to the sofa, past Wendla's chair. I have not touched that chair since she… left. I couldn't. I sit on the sofa, pulling Ilse up to sit on my lap to make room for Sarah to sit.

"Hello, darling." As she sits down, Sarah reaches forward to stroke Ilse's hair down. Ilse screws up her face, reaches behind her head and pushes Sarah's arm away.

"No!" She whines and buries her head in my shoulders. Sarah moves her hand back and bites her lip, looking embarrassed.

"Sorry." I rock Ilse back and forth.

"It's fine." She forces a smile and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it."

Ilse turns her head and looks at Sarah. "Don wan you." She glares at Sarah.

"Ilse!" I cry, looking down at her, a frown on my face. "That wasn't kind! Say sorry to Miss Sarah."

"No." Ilse says again, putting her face back in my shoulder.

"I think I'll go and get some tea." Sarah excuses herself quickly to the kitchen and I move Ilse down to sit in her place.

"Ilse, you have to be kinder to Miss Sarah." I say down to her. "Miss Sarah is a nice person and she likes you."

"I don like her." Ilse crosses her arms and I sigh.

"Why don't you like her, Ilse?" I ask.

"I don like her."

I suppose that's all I'm going to get from her now so I reach down and pick up her kitten toy and hand it to her. She grabs it and holds it to her, whispering in its ear.

"Here we are." Sarah comes back with a tray of cups and a kettle of tea and sets it down on the table. I reach for my cup and take a sip as she moves to sit back in her old place in the sofa. However, Ilse regards her with the same expression that a lion would regard a trespasser with and Sarah turns around to find somewhere else to sit.

And that's when it happens. She turns and lets her body sink into the chair.

Wendla's chair.

I put down my teacup quickly and Ilse drops her toy kitten. There's a dead end silence which Sarah is oblivious too.

"That's a lovely toy you have there, Ilse." She smiles sweetly down at her and picks up the kitten to give back to Ilse, who is looking at her with an unreadable expression. Slowly she climbs off the sofa and waddles over to the chair where Sarah's skirt lies like a wall in front of her. She puts both hands on her leg and starts to push. She pushes so hard, Sarah looking at me in alarm.

"Ilse!" I cry, grabbing her arm to pull her back but she shakes it off.

"Chair!" She squeals. "Off!" She takes Sarah's skirt into her hands and starts to pull, her motives clearly the same. To get Sarah out of Wendla's chair.

"Do you not want me to sit here, Ilse?" Sarah jumps up, causing Ilse to waver slightly on her feet and then fall onto her back. There's a silence until a scream pierces it.

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry!" Sarah bends down and picks her up, but Ilse wriggles so much that Sarah drops her, causing her to scream all the more.

_Get your hands off her you witch, you're hurting her. _

Wendla.

Sarah stops mid-air, looking alarmed. She looks at me, then Ilse before slowly backing away.

"I think it's best you leave, Sarah, I'm sorry." I say, going down to Ilse.

"I'll go then." She says, walking towards the door. She opens it and practically runs out.

I reach down and pick Ilse up, holding her in my arms as she cries more.

"Hush." I whisper.

_Thank you, Melchi._

I breathe out a sigh of disappointment. It was Moritz again. I'm sure I heard Wendla just then, and I'm sure that's what scared Sarah so much.

"Hurts." Ilse says, pulling away from me and wiping her eyes.

"Does it hurt here, Ilse?" I ask, rubbing her back.

"No." She shakes her head and puts a hand over the left side of her chest. "Here."

* * *

**A/N And, once again, not how I planned it!**

**Ah well. Maybe one day I'll follow my plans. Review!**


	8. The Story of a Princess

"Ilse, what color is the bird?" I whisper, pointing up to some trees. She squints her eyes then points.

"Red." She says, picking up more grass from beneath her.

I love Central Park on a nice day. It's away from the madness of the big city and almost reminds me of being back in Germany. Of course, it's nothing like the enormous forest that was our playground back then but it does have something serene about it. Ilse adores coming here, even though she usually hurts herself on a swing or something. Today, no injuries but I'm keeping a close eye on her.

I haven't spoken to Sarah since the incident at home. I saw her at the market the other day but she walked away before I could say anything. It's probably for the best, she obviously doesn't want to speak to me. I do miss her company though. I love Ilse with everything I have but it was nice to be able to talk to someone older.

"Ilse?" I say, sitting up on the grass. She looks at me expectantly and I laugh. "I want to tell you a story."

Ilse's smile grows and she crawls over to sit closer to me.

"This is the story of a princess." I start. "The princess was a young girl who lived in a far off land, far away from where we live. She had many friends and everyone loved her. Even her Mother, the queen of the land, even the court of the land, who were cruel and evil. One day, this princess met a… a pirate." I smile down at her concentrated face. "A pirate who was not worthy of her love, a pirate that had done awful things to her. But she looked past it all. She saw the person underneath. She loved him and let him love her. The pirate thought she was the most" I take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh "beautiful princess ever. But let me tell you, that pirate was very silly.

"That pirate was so silly that he wrote a… story, for his friend, that the court didn't like. So, he was sent out of the land, to a prison far away." I shudder a bit at the memory of the reformatory and continue. "The pirate spent many weeks in that prison, where the other prisoners were mean and tortured him. But back in the land, the princess was in danger. She was under a spell, you see, a spell that was caused by the pirate's love.

"The Queen was terrified for the princess. She talked about going to the wizard, to have the spell taken away. But the princess didn't want that. She wrote to the pirate immediately, and told him of the spell. When he heard, he ran away from the prison to find her and help her. He walked many days, fearing that it would be too late.

"The princess, however, had escaped from the wizard, the spell still cast on her and also walked for many days, until one day, they found each other, as they had many times before and they ran away, to a new world, that they helped to build together.

"The spell didn't go away though. The spell grew, becoming more breathtaking, more amazing until, one day, it became something…" I look down at Ilse's little face, looking at me with such awe at the story.

"…magical." I kiss her on the forehead again and pull her up onto my lap. "And do you know what, Ilse?"

"What?"

"I am so happy that the princess escaped the wizard. I wouldn't have had the story any other way." I hold her head close to my chest and kiss her.

* * *

**A/N I tell you, every single time I write a chapter, I write a little plan for how the next one will go. And each time, I look at the plan and think "Okay, let's do this!" and each time, it turns out completely different from the plan. I swear, If i had always followed my plans, we would have found out now that Ilse is part of the secret society and flies off to Oz to become a munchkin or something. (She's not, just an example x)**

**This was just a bridge chapter, just saying. Got inspiration from the deleted SA song, "Once there was a Pirate"**

**Has anyone else seen Billy Elliot the Musical? I saw it last night, absolutely fantastic. The kid playing Billy is going to go so far with his dancing. When I was like eight, I did the Off-Broadway workshops for Billy Elliot when it was starting, as one of the little dancing girls and it's so cool now to see how far the show has gone!**


	9. Missing Her

I live for these evening walks. The city is so quiet and peaceful and the streetlights make the pavement shine. Most nights, after I've finished writing, I leave Ilse with the neighbors to go for a walk down 42nd street and let my mind wander.

"What will you wear to the party?" I hear a voice in front of me and I peer to see a group of three young women under the shade of a balcony, talking animatedly. They are each carrying a box-bag, probably with some form of outfit or accessory inside.

"I was thinking of the blue one, with silver trim!" Another one gushes. "What do you think, Sarah?"

I stop in my tracks and stare ahead at them. Sarah?

"I don't know, Meggie." She says, her voice monotonous.

"Oh, Sarah, forget about him!" Another one says, tottering around, trying to keep warm in the early winter air.

Oh no. Something tells me that I shouldn't be listening to this. I duck behind a pillar and lean against it, breathing in the fresh night air.

"I can't, Emily!" She cries. "The last time I saw him, it was awful!"

Wait. Are they talking about me?

"You're saying the kid attacked you?" One of them, Meggie I think it was, laughs.

"Yes. I don't even know what I did! She started screaming and then I heard… something. But it was terrible!"

"Then it's probably best you forget him!" Another girl says. "I mean, you show up at his house looking to make company and his crazy daughter attacks you!"

They all snigger and I feel my hand curling into a fist. Ilse is not crazy, how dare they say that?

"Let's go home, girls, please." I hear Sarah's annoyed voice and to my horror, their footsteps coming closer to me.

I bring my coat up to cover my face and jump out of my hiding place, only to come face-to-face with all three of them.

"Melchior!" Sarah has a look of sheer… surprise on her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking a walk." I reply, equally stunned.

"Is this him?" A short brunette whispers to Sarah and she gives one quick nod, obviously embarrassed.

"Hello, Melchior." The other, a girl with long black hair steps forward and holds out her hand. "It is good to meet you." She emphasizes each word, like I don't understand her.

"I speak English, thank you." I shake her hand while giving a curt smile.

"Oh… sorry." She steps back, biting her lip and looking at the other two.

"I should go." I say, eyeing them coldly. "My daughter is waiting for me."

"Sarah should walk with you." The brunette says, pushing her forward. "She might get lost on the way home."

"No, I'm fine!" Sarah turns to eye her friends sharply. "I can get home fine."

"No you can't!" The other one cries. "It's dark and the streetlights are going to go off in a minute!"

Sarah sighs and does a half smile at me. I nod and start to walk back up the street, allowing her to follow me. The other two giggle and walk the other way.

"I saw you at the market the other day." She says after a pause.

"I saw you too." I reply shortly.

"Why didn't you talk to me?" She asks quietly.

I think about it a bit then reply. "I was in a rush, I couldn't stop."

"Perhaps." She murmurs and we walk in silence a bit, praying for it to end.

"Melchior." She stops me by putting a hand on my shoulder. "I wanted to apologize for… last time. I got scared. I thought I would really hurt Ilse and then the strangest thing happened!" She shakes her head. "Don't think me crazy, but I swear I heard Wendla's voice!"

"Really?" I say after a pause.

"Yes!" She sighs out. "It was so scary and I panicked and ran. But I'm sorry. Friends don't do things like that to each other. Forgive me?" She holds her hand out and I smile and shake it.

"Of course." We continue to walk down the road, turning into our neighborhood. I walk her up the path to her house and she faces me.

"I'm glad to be friends again, Melchior." She says.

"Me too." I smile at her.

She stops and closes her eyes, her mouth moving in what I can only guess is a silent prayer. Then, in one swift movement, she's on her toes, her hand is on my face and her lips pressed against mine.

I am unable to think, to feel anything. I stand there, in shock, until she pulls away and looks at me, stunned.

"Goodnight, then." She whispers and runs into her house. I turn slowly and run down the path to pick up Ilse from Mrs Bennet's house.

When Ilse is peacefully asleep in her cot is the only time I allow myself to really think about what happened with Sarah. I don't know what to think about it. It had felt… strange.

Good on one hand, to have been with a woman like that but on the other hand, all I could feel was betrayal. Betrayal to Ilse, betrayal to Wendla, betrayal to myself.

And at that moment, the only person I wanted to be with right then was Wendla.

I cried myself to sleep that night, purely missing her.

* * *

**A/N You know what? I think I'm just going to stop making plans now. I never follow them -.-**

**I have biiiiiig plans for the next chapter and the chapter after that x) You'll like it for sure.**

**I have also planned the last chapter and it is intended to make people cry. But you know me and my plans. They never work. So you might get a funny ending. Who knows?**

**Please review! xx**


	10. Only Each Other

Mr Goldman looks through my papers with an unimpressed expression on his face. I never know what to think when he has that expression. Sometimes when he has it, it means he likes the piece, other times, not so much. Ilse is in my arms, dead to the world, thank goodness Mr Goldman lets me bring her to the office.

"This is good, Melchior." He looks up over his glasses, hitting the papers sharply against his desk. "The questions about betrayal and all that. Keep writing like this, your last piece was… lacking."

"Thank you, sir." I say and take his outstretched hand for a shake.

"How's the little chipper?" He nods towards Ilse. "She grows each time you bring her in."

I smile down at Ilse. "Yes. She grows so quickly."

"Well." He beams at Ilse for a moment before turning to me. ""I want you to cover something new next time, Gabor. Your pieces on society and religion are brilliantly written and gripping but the readers want something different! So, I am asking you to do a spread on children. What they're like, how they act, maybe put a philosophical twist on it."

I nod slowly. "I'll certainly try my best, sir."

"Good." He stands up, signaling for me to as well, picking up my satchel. "See you this time next week then, Melchior."

"Goodbye, sir." I say, exiting the room.

* * *

This is so difficult.

I have been sitting at the typewriter for nearly an hour now haven't written one word. I have tried watching or talking to Ilse but nothing came up. It was easy enough last week, the subject was something that was on my mind right then. Now? Nothing.

Ilse is sitting in her chair by the table and to be completely honest, she's not helping. She's talking to her doll and occasionally throws her head back and giggles loudly.

"Childhood is…" I run my fingers through my hair, staring at the blank sheet in front of me. "Children… Ilse, shh!" I make the gesture with my finger in front of my mouth and she looks at me blankly.

"Life without children... No, too soft, Ilse! Shh!" I do the gesture again but this time she does it back at me.

"Children… Oh, this is hopeless!" I bury my face in my hands while Isle babbles away to herself.

"Sama fitchila kitty." She says in her made up language.

"Okay. Children, our past… ILSE, COULD YOU BE QUIET FOR ONE MINUTE?" I bellow down at her.

No. I didn't have just shouted at her. Not at sweet little Ilse.

She is looking at me with shock and fear, her face slowly disintegrating. Then she lets out a sob. A single sob, but that's all it took for many more to come.

"Ilse, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!" I kneel down at to the chair and pick her up, but her cries only get louder. She starts to push away from me, screaming as tears run down from her eyes. "Please, don't cry!" I try to hold her head to my chest, a method that usually works to calm her down but she pushes away, trying to get as far as she can from me.

My daughter is afraid of me. The thought hits me like a brick. I promised I would never hurt her but here she is, afraid of me with everything she has.

"No, please, Ilse!" I cry desperate and hold her tighter but she just pushes at the restraints of my arms.

I can't deal with it anymore. I throw open the door and run to the next door house and knock quickly, Ilse's cries piercing the cold evening silence. Mrs Bennet opens the door.

"I- I'm so sorry, Mrs Bennet." I push out, my voice breaking. "I.. I c-can't…"

"It's alright, Melchior, give her here." Mrs Bennet smiles at me as I hand Ilse over. "I'll get her to sleep and bring her round afterwards."

"Thank you." I whisper before the door closes in front of my face. I walk back to the house, feeling numb inside as the silent and cold tears drip down my face.

I shut the door behind me and collapse in the living room, letting my trousers get stained with tears. I am so angry at myself. All I can see is Ilse's face all I can hear are her screams. What if she never trusts me again? What if I become a stranger to her from how on? What if she no longer thinks of me as her father?

I feel like there are splinters of ice dotting my insides as I think that. Ilse is the last thing I have in this world, the last thing that I have of Wendla.

Wendla. If she's seen what I did, she would have never forgiven me. Ilse was so important to her. She would have hated me for sure.

A bell rings. Ilse is back. I get up and open the door and Mrs Bennet is holding Ilse.

"There you are." She looks unimpressed with me as she carefully transfers Ilse form her arms to mine.

"Thank you, Mrs Bennet." I smile gratefully at her but her lips tighten.

"Take care of her, then." She gives me an icy look then walks out.

I shut the door behind her and slowly carry Ilse up to her bedroom and place her in her crib.

I hope she forgets about this in the morning. She has to.

In the end, we have only each other.

* * *

**A/N You see the Writers Block that Melchior has? I deal with that like every day. **

**I was going to have him go to Sarah's house but it would completely ruin what I have in store for next chapter!**


	11. The One Last Thing

Ilse was fine the next morning. She was a bit distant at first but gradually began to warm towards me, thank goodness. I was terrified all night that she wouldn't forgive me. The next day, I took her to Central park, to the new zoo that opened there and she enjoyed it, much to my relief.

I finally finished my piece on children, basing it on their trust and how easily it can be destroyed. It received generally good reviews but Mr Goldman still said that there was something lacking.

"As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless. The End."

I turn to Ilse, who is gazing at an illustration in the Peter Pan book. "Did you like that?" I ask, closing the book and putting it on the table in front of the sofa. She smiles and nods and I kiss her on the head.

"Papa?" She says quietly.

"Yes?" I look down at her huge brown eyes.

"Kiss?" She tilts her head up and I smile and give her a peck on her cheek. "Story?" She says as I pull away.

I laugh at this. "Ilse, you've just had a story."

"Pincess piyat story!" She jumps up onto her knees.

"Alright, but only quickly." I lean back with her and start. "There was once a princess, and-"

I am interrupted by the sharp ringing of the bell. I roll my eyes at Ilse and stand up to walk over and open it. In the doorway, stomping snow off his feet is a man, thin and tall, perhaps fifty years old, waring glasses and holding a briefcase.

"Mr Gabor?" He asks and I nod. "Andrew Smeathe, solicitor. May I come in?"

I nod suspiciously and hold the door open and let him in. He glances round until he sees Ilse then adjusts his grip on his briefcase and turns to me.

"I would like to have a word with you, Mr Gabor." He says. "Do you have anywhere that we can sit down?"

"Of course." I lead him to the living room, picking up Ilse as I go and sitting her on my lap. He moves stiffly, sitting with me on the sofa.

"Mr Gabor, I have had some reports that have recently come to light now." He says, pushing up his glasses. "In the state of New York, we take every report extremely seriously and will not turn a blind eye to this one. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." I say, puzzled. Reports? What reports?

He shifts round in his seat to get to his briefcase and starts to look through it. "This" he pulls out a sheet of paper "was filed a day ago by a Mrs Agatha Bennet. Is this person familiar to you?"

"Yes sir, she's my neighbor." I say, slightly dumbfounded. Why would Mrs Bennet be reporting me?

"Have a look at it." He shoves it under my nose and I pick it up and read.

**To whomever it may concern,**

**This letter is to report an issue raised by GABOR Melchior in Manhattan, New York. It has come to my attention that he is an unfit parent to his daughter, BERGMAN-GABOR Ilse Wendy. When Ilse's mother, BERGMAN Wendla died, Melchior lost grip of things. Among his shames as a parent, he has caused great distress to the child, both by negligence and abuse. I have heard her crying some nights from my home. He abandons her with me at least once a week and she always eats heartily when she's in my care, an obvious clue to underfeeding. I believe that significant action must be taken, for the sake of the child.**

**I care greatly for this child, too greatly to stand idly by and watch him damage her. Perhaps, if he is found by authorities to be an unfit parent, she could be given into me and my husband's care. **

**Thank you and have a good day,**

**Agatha Bennet**

When I finish reading it, I'm shaking. They think I'm a bad parent to Ilse. They think I could damage her. Mrs Bennet, my friend, has told the police that I cannot be trusted. But it's not true! I'm not a bad parent, I know it. I just knew that look Mrs Bennet gave me when she left Ilse behind meant something. She wants to take Ilse away from me. She wants to take my little girl away.

"Now, a report like this is extremely serious." Mr Smeathe continues. "The penalty for an accusation that turns out to be false can add up to thousands of dollars so it's extremely likely that Mrs Bennet is telling some element of the truth."

I look up at him with pleading eyes. "No, Sir, you have to understand. I am not an unfit parent!"

"Oh, I don't resent that." He holds up a hand. "I have just seen how you act around her and how comfortable she is around you, I don't believe you are harming her. But we cannot do nothing about this case. For instance, Mrs Bennet said she heard crying."

"Ilse's… how do I put this… she's been going through things emotionally. Her mother has just left us and she somehow remembers her and it's been distressing her, causing her to cry more!" I say helplessly. I sound like I'm lying.

"Perhaps, but the law is the law." He takes the paper back and tucks it into his briefcase. "And the law means that I will have to take Ilse into custody for a month until your trial."

My blood turns cold. He doesn't mean… no. No.

"Take Ilse… away?" My grip on her suddenly grows a bit tighter. "Sir, you can't possibly mean-"

"You will not be able to see her until your hearing." He folds his hands. "I'm sorry, Mr Gabor, but it is necessary."

"No, please sir, no." I hear my voice getting higher. "Please, let her stay with me."

"Unfortunately I have no authorization to." She says, his voice getting strained. "If the hearing comes out in your favor, you may have her back into your custody. If not, she will be taken into care and another family will adopt her."

"And I'll never see her again?" My voice comes out in a whisper.

"Not unless the family permits it, no." He tries to smile sympathetically at me but it looks like a smirk of triumph. I look down at Ilse and he stands up. "I will give you a moment for you to say your goodbyes." He walks down the corridor before stepping into the cold night air.

I pull Ilse away from me to look at her in the eye.

"Ilse, you're such a big girl." I say, taking in all of her features. She looks so much like Wendla, so much my heart breaks. "You need to be a big girl now. You're going to go away on a little… holiday." I take a deep breath, trying to control myself. "You're going on a holiday without your Papa. But you will come back and I will be waiting for you to come back. But… Ilse, I love you so much." I mentally kick myself as I feel tears pricking my eyes. "I have watched you grow from a little baby into such a big girl, and you've grown so beautifully. I love you and I will always love you. Never forget that, never. Never."

I hold her close to my chest, thinking solely that this might be the last time I ever do it. I look down at her and take in everything, her curls, her brown eyes, Wendla's eyes. The tears are running steadily down my face now but I don't bother to wipe them away.

"Papa?" I hear her tiny voice and she pulls away, reaching a hand up to wipe my cheek with her little hand. "Don cry." She whispers. "Don cry."

I reach down and give her a kiss on the cheek and one last hug, savoring everything about her until I hear the door open again and Mr Smeathe comes in.

I pull away and look at him. He's really going to do it. He's going to take away Ilse. My little Ilse.

He reaches down and picks Ilse up, holding her roughly in his arms, something she silently protests to. "I'll write when your hearing is, Mr Gabor. Good evening." He turns, Ilse looking over his shoulder at me with wide eyes. I stand up and follow them.

"Ilse, I love you so much, just know that Papa loves you and be a strong girl!" I cry after them. Ilse watches me before kissing her hand and waving at me. I do the same.

There's a carriage waiting outside and Mr Smeathe nears it. Suddenly the full impact on what's about to happen hits me and I run after them as they get into the carriage.

"No, Mr Smeathe, you can't do this, you can't do this to Ilse!" I shout, crying like I never have before. "Please sir, please let me keep her, I'll prove to you that I am a good father!" The horses start. "Please! Don't go!" I scream down the road as the horses go into a trot, then a canter. I sprint after them, ignoring the stares and remarks that I get from the passers by. "COME BACK! BRING HER BACK! PLEASE! No…" I stop, feeling hopeless as I watch the carriage disappear into the darkness of the winter night, the one last thing I had in this world in it.

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**A/N Not even going to lie, I am lying on my bed on my laptop after just finishing this chapter with tears running down my eyes. **

**This is not the end though, I promise! Please review!**


	12. How The Story Will End

Ilse…

No.

"Mr Gabor, are you alright?" A voice calls to me form beside me and I feel my arm being tugged until I am face to face with Mrs Daniels, an old lady who lives down the road from me. "I saw you running after that carriage!" She looks at me questioningly for an answer. But she's just a face and I only want to see one face right now. I take my arm away and march back down the road in the direction of my house.

However, when I get to my house, I can't stop there. I need to go somewhere else first.

I get to the Bennet house an am knocking sharply with my knuckles until they're red. The door opens and I'm faced with Mrs Bennet, in a lilac nightgown, holding a glass of lager.

"Mr Gabor, what a pleasure." She says sarcastically, swaying dangerously on her feet and I get the sneaking suspicion that she has had a glass too many. I walk into her house uninvited.

"How could you do that?" I spit at her. "How could you report me to the police?"

"Ah, they came, did they?" She takes a swig from her glass. "Maybe now she'll be in a good home."

"Why would you do that?" I cry down at her, the ghosts of my old tears reappearing.

"Because you are an unfit parent, Mr Gabor." She rolls her eyes. "I have taken care of Ilse much more than you have and I love her as well. You didn't expect me to just watch while you potentially destroy her."

"I would never destroy her, you know that!" I point at her. "You just want to take her away from me."

"To be honest, yes." She takes another drink, closing her eyes as she does so. "I can provide a good home for her, I can give her a mother and a father, more than you could ever do!" She

"BUT YOU ARE NOT HER MOTHER!" I shout at her. "SHE HAD A MOTHER, SHE HAS A FATHER, I'M HER FATHER, AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM HER!"

She looks at me, affronted, looking suddenly sober. "You think me a fool, Mr Gabor." She says evenly. "You think I'm taking something away from her. No, I'm giving her something. Did you notice how, when in your care, she was screaming and crying but went to sleep when in my care? Did you notice how much she loves coming here? Did you notice that you used past tense when you just said that? 'She had a mother'. I'm going to change it to 'She has a mother'".

"I'm not going to let you take her away." I whisper. "I'm going to fight you to get her back, I promise."

She comes closer to me. "Oh really?" She sniggers and shakes her head. "I'm going to tell you how this will end. You will get invited to a trial where your lawyer will lose the case. Ilse will be designated to my care. I will become her mother, my husband her father. You will not be allowed to see her anymore. You will be forced to move to another part of the city, alone. She will grow up to be Ilse Bennet. She will grow up thinking that she has a mother and a father. She will forget all about you." She sighs. "Just understand, Gabor. You are no longer part of her life. She is going to a better home and there is nothing you can do about it."

I just shake my head. I can't say anything, no matter how hard I try.

She rolls her eyes again. "Now, if you would please leave, I was going to go to bed when you interrupted me."

I turn and walk out of the door, slamming it behind me and stand outside the doorway. What now?

_Go see Sarah, she'll know something. _

I can't see Sarah, Moritz. I can't look at her again, not after last time.

_Go see Sarah, she will know what to do. _

I can't…

_Trust me. Don't you want your daughter back? Don't you want Ilse?_

That does it. I walk past my house to hers and ring the bell. Oh, God, it's so late, she's probably in bed already.

"Yes?" I hear her voice as she opens the door, wearing a dressing gown. "Melchior! What's wrong, you look awful!"

"Ilse…" I breathe. "They've taken her away."

She looks at me with wide eyes. "Come in."

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**A/N Sorry it took so long, I wrote this on the plane and sorry if Melchior is... awkward. HAHAHA Before I had written this chapter, I had watched like six episodes of Big Bang Theory (BEST SHOW EVER, like apart from Glee...) and my brain got fuzzled up. So, instead of imagining Melchior as Jonathan Groff, like I usually do, I could only imagine him as Sheldon from BBB. And so this chapter is a bit awkward, I apologize... **


	13. Daughters

"This is ridiculous!" Sarah cries for the hundredth time, pacing around her living room. "You are not a bad father, they have no right to take Ilse away!"

I am sitting on her sofa, clutching a glass of water. "He said it was the law." I say, bringing the glass up to my lips then putting it down quickly as I feel the churning in my stomach. "He said that if I win this case, I can have Ilse back."

"You're going to win this case, Melchior." She stops and looks at me, shaking her head. "You're going to win and have your daughter back."

"I'll have to." I say, forcing myself to take a drink of my water. "But, Sarah, what if I don't win?" I put the glass down quickly. "What if Ilse goes to live with other people and I never see her again? What if they treat her badly?" I rub my forehead and put the glass down on the table in front of me. It's strange. A few hours ago, I thought that I had everything but now all I can see is it being destroyed in front of me.

"Melchior, don't say that!" She comes to sit next to me. "We'll find you someone to help, get your arguments, we can win this!"

"How?" I cry, sitting up and looking at her properly. "I don't know any lawyers, I don't know where I can find a lawyer and I only have one month!"

"What on earth is going on down there?" I gruff voice shouts down the stairs, followed by a large old man with silver hair, holding a walking stick, smoking a pipe and wearing a royal blue robe.

"Nothing, father!" She calls up to him and he eyes me suspiciously.

"Who're you?" He grunts, nodding at me.

"Father, this is Melchior Gabor, he lives down the road. I was good friends with his… friend, Wendla." She looks awkward and I inwardly wince. Wendla and I never married but I hate it when people refer to her as a 'friend' or even 'wife'.

"Wendla, eh?" He narrows his eyes. "Short brunette, one with a funny accent?"

"Yes, Father."

"An' what's the matter w'you?" He walks down a few more stairs. "You look like you were cryin'"

"Melchior is just going through some difficult legal issues, Father." Sarah answers quickly. "He needed to talk to someone."

"Legal issues?" He narrows his eyes again as he hobbles over to an armchair and puts his cane down. "What sorta legal issues?"

"My daughter, sir." I say directly to him. "They've taken her away."

"Why?' He sharply pulls the pipe out of his mouth and leans forward to take a better look at me.

"They believe that I am a bad father." I purse my lips, waiting for his reply.

"Well, are ye?" He falls back into the chair and takes a long drag.

"I don't think I am, no." I reply.

"They why did they take 'er?" He shakes his head then looks at me. "Ya need a lawyer, kid?"

"Yes sir, I do." I lean forward on the sofa.

He laughs a deep laugh. "You're in luck. I practiced law for a year or two at university before I changed to business."

"Really?" Sarah looks puzzled. "I never knew that."

"Yeah, won a case here and there, not too difficult, only have to pull out our strong bits and their weak bits." He smiles and inhales on his pipe. "I quit it when my father didn't approve. I can do your case."

"Sir, that would be fantastic!" I break through the lump in my throat that has been there for over three hours with my first laugh. "But are you sure? I mean, it's a lot of work."

"Ler me tell you somethin'." He stands up and points his pipe at me. "I have a daughter too. If she was ever taken away, I would do anythin' to get 'er back. Why wouldn't I help you?"

"I cannot say how grateful I am." I say, leaning forward and taking his outstretched hand.

He laughs again and settles down in the chair. "You an' I, we needa protect these daughters, don' we?"

* * *

**A/N And I have just decided, there will be a 'visitor' from Melchior's past... wonder whoo?**

**Review please! x**


	14. A Witness

Oh I am dreading this so much.

My palms are clammy and sweaty as I stand outside the enormous wooden door. "Mr Goldman" , it says in painted gold letters. I remember coming here to deliver my first story. I was paid enough from that one to buy Ilse a large doll. Ilse hadn't put her down for days.

What am I doing here? I can't just walk in and announce that I am taking an indefinite leave. My work has been unsatisfactory enough, he might let me go for good. The mere thought of that sends shivers down my spine. It will not look good in court that I lost my job. But I need Ilse back so much and I need to focus completely on the case until I get her back and that may mean leaving my job.

I have talked it over many times with Sarah's father. I am to find three good witnesses to testify that I am a good person and can be trusted with a child and come up with a statement. Luckily, Sarah agreed straightaway to be a witness but I'm yet to find anyone else. He explained to me about these trials as well. I will go in for a hearing to start off with then a week later, there will be another hearing and they will bring Ilse in to that as well. My heart swoops as I remember that. I'll see Ilse! It's only been a week and yet I miss her so much. True, I won't be able to interact with her but I'll see her.

Come on, Melchior. It's now or never.

_He'll understand, he liked Ilse, didn't he?_

I nod and knock on the door.

"Come in!" A gruff voice calls out and I push on the silver handle until the door gives way in front of me.

"Good morning, sir." I clear my throat.

"Ah, Melchior!" He straightens himself out at his desk and gestures to the seat on the other side. "Have a seat, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" I laugh nervously and he looks at me over his spectacles. "What is it? And where's your little girl?"

I take a deep breath. "That's what I wanted to speak to you about, sir. They took her away."

He looks at me for a moment before leaning back. "The social services? Bah, they think they do a good job, all they do is kidnap kiddies from good men like you, just because they don't have women to call mothers! What's the issue?"

"Well, I don't know if I should even be asking for this but I need time." I look up at him. "Sir, I would like to take an unpaid leave of absence."

"For how long?" He says immediately.

"A few weeks, I promise, then I will be back."

He nods. "No, take as long as you want. And I'll tell you what, it doesn't need to be unpaid."

I look up, a frown creasing on my forehead. "Sir?"

"Kid, I had a son once." He leans forward and takes his glasses off. "And his mother left us, just packed her bags and left. And then they took my son away because one woman decided she didn't want a family anymore. That will not happen to Ilse." He points his folded spectacles at me. "You do what you need to do, I will help in any way I can, I will do anything for you to get your daughter back."

"Really, sir?" I whisper.

"Of course. I just wish that I had someone to say that to me." He puts his glasses down.

"Mr Goldman, I need a witness." I say. "I know it's unorthodox to ask one's employer to witness for them but I'm so afraid that I won't have anyone else."

"Of course." He nods immediately. "I'll witness for you."

"Thank you so much sir."

"It's nothing, to witness for someone."

"Not just that, for everything. For giving me a job when I needed one and realizing my dream to be a writer, for letting me bring Ilse in, and now you're agreeing to testify for me! Nothing I can do could repay that."

"No need to repay anything." He holds up an enormous hand. "Ilse lit up this dull office every time she came, I couldn't imagine it without her."

"I can't ever say how grateful I am." I knit my fingers together under the desk.

"Well, on your way." He stands up and comes to the other side of the desk, holding out his hand and I take it gratefully, before turning out and walking out of the room.

When I get home, I feel elated. Not only have I maintained my job but I have another witness! I only need one more before I'm ready to get Ilse back. Everything so much brighter now.

The mail has arrived, a bundle of letters on the doorstep I pick them up and walk into the house looking at them. Strange, there usually aren't so many. Bill, invitation, bill, a letter from Anna! I pick up a knife from the kitchen and slice it open to read.

**Dear Melchi,**

**Otto and I were married last week and it was wonderful! There was a service in the church with roses everywhere and it was so beautiful. Afterwards, everyone went to a party and there was dancing and I danced with Otto. Thea also came out of her bedroom last month so she was able to attend the wedding and she had a very good time. I only wish you and Wendla could have been there to see it.**

**I am so sorry to hear about your daughter! I wish there was something more that I could do, but now I can only pray that you will get her back. Perhaps I can write something for the court, although I doubt it will be legal because I never knew Ilse. I want to badly to come over to America to visit you and help more but it's too expensive and we'd never get there in time. I know that it will mean nothing to you but I am praying to God that you will have her back safe. **

**Good luck , Melchi. **

**Lots of love,**

**Marianna Weiss **

I smile and toss the letter aside, picking up the next one. A brown dusty one, with my name in a swirly, messy handwriting. I know this handwriting, it can't be… No. How would they have ever found me?

I turn the envelope over to see the return address and my suspicions are confirmed.

Fanny Gabor.

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**A/N YAAYYYY!**

**So so so SO sorry it took so long to update! It's just been starting school and I'm going into my junior year of high school and there is like ten times more homework and over everything else, writing has been tricky to fit in. But I will try my best to work it into my routine!**

**God, I was listening to the SA soundtrack the other day and does't Melchior have amazing songs? Like, if they ever did a gender-reversed production of SA (they totally should) I would so be Melchior. Or Georg (AND THOSE BREASTS, I mean God, please just let those apples fall!). Or Hanschen. Omg. I would play any guy role, come to think of it. **

**In other news, I went to London this summer and saw Sierra Boggess in Les Miserables! She was phenomenal, even though she had been sick and then I met her afterwards and hugged her x) Because that's what you do when you meet Sierra Boggess. And Les Miserables was amazing, I'm thinking of my fic after this being a Fantine one, because apart from Wendla, Christine, Maria, G(a)linda, Anna Leonowens or Magenta, she is my dream part. **

**Please review, and the next chapter will not take this long!**


	15. A Letter from the Past

Fanny Gabor.

I fiddle with the edges of the envelope, wondering if I should open it. How could my mother, whom I have not seen for more than three years, have written to me? And what could she want?

Curiosity gets the better of me as I flip it over and pull on the flap, uncaring now for the use of a knife. There is one paper, with a message in my mother's scribbled handwriting.

**Dear Melchior,**

**I don't even know if you want to speak to me, after what I did but I am going to send this letter anyway.**

**Marianna Wheelan told me your address and I am so proud of you that you reached America. It was always a dream of mine to but I couldn't leave you and your father. But I have now. I left him. I never wanted to send you away and ultimately, that's why I left. It got to the point where I couldn't bear to be in the same room as him. He left the village about a month after you left. **

**Wendla's mother passed away a year ago, probably of grief over Wendla running away. Her older sister, Ina, now lives in the house, taking care of all of her affairs. Perhaps Wendla would like to write to her sometime.**

**Marianna also said that you have a child now, a little girl. I do wish you had written to me when she was born, Melchior, I will not have any other grandchildren. She also said that you have run into legal issues with her and that brings me to the point of my letter.**

**I want to help, to witness for you. I have bought a ticket to go aboard the HMS Mermaid which is due to arrive in New York on Tuesday the fifth of next month. I don't know how you will feel about this but I know I have to help. After all, she is my granddaughter. **

**And I just want to say, Melchi, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for letting your father send you away, I'm so sorry for not helping Moritz before he shot himself, I'm so sorry for not helping you and Wendla when she became pregnant. I'm sorry I haven't been there these past years. But I hope I can help you this time. **

**Love,**

**Your mother, Fanny Gabor**

Mama…

Oh God. Her letter sends a shiver of guilt down my spine as I remember the woman I saw two years ago. Graying hair, pinned up on the top of her head, her eyes tired, bored into a book, as I it were her only escape. I should have talked to her. My mother was never against me. She let me read Faust, she let me think on my own, a great feat for mothers who cared too much for their sons. Ilse is her granddaughter and she deserves to be a part of her life. I should have written to her, I should have talked to her, I should have told her about Wendla.

Forget that. I should have told Anna about Wendla.

I didn't mean to not tell her, she just seemed so upset about losing Martha and then Thea hiding away. I couldn't tell her that one of her closest friends had died.

But Mama…

No. She deserves to be a part of my new life, especially after I'd shut her out for so long.

With a new resolve, I pick up my pen and begin to write out a reply to her.

* * *

**A/N I have some really good news but first I would like to say, MRSCULLEN1122, I cannot say enough how much your reviews brighten my day! I love going ot me email and finding a review from you so thank you so much! xxx**

**And finally for the good news! The Final Journal of Martha Bessell is being published! Yeah, my local magazine is looking for new talent or something and they needed to fill a space in the Humanities section and since Martha is an abused child, they're giving me a weekly space! Each week, I send in a chapter and they publish it! EEEP I am so excited! **

**And it couldn't have been without all of you reviewing, so thank you xx**


	16. My Mother's Son

"Extra, extra! Women fight for the right to go to university!"

The ship is enormous. I should have known that my mother would spend the money to be on such a fine ship as this one. She probably had some money left from my father.

What am I doing? I am about to see my mother for the first time after four years of nothing. I shouldn't be doing this. The freezing winter air and dirty looks from the bell boy over there should be enough to tell me I shouldn't bother.

_Melchi, stop. This is the best thing for Ilse._

You're right, Moritz.

"Extra, extra, suffragettes flood the streets of New York!"

People get off from the staircase attached to the side of the giant vessel and through the docking tent. Old ladies with diamonds sewn into their dresses, men with mustaches that look like squirrels, a young woman with a little girl who reminds me, painstakingly, of Wendla and Ilse.

There she is.

She is wearing a long coat, coming to the ground and is visibly struggling with about four cases, stacked under her arms. She puts one gloved hand down to rummage a hand in her pocket, pulling out a piece of paper and presenting it to the man in the bell-boy hat. He glances at it with bored eyes before shoving it back to her and letting her go by.

When she gets out of the docking tent, she looks around, trying to get as much in as she could, like I did when we got off the boat. I can see the start of a smile appear on her face, as Wendla had, and she puts her cases down in order to adjust her coat. She looks up, turning around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy she once called her son.

_It's time to go, Melchi. She's waiting for you._

I walk forward, until I am behind her, reaching out a hand to tap her on the shoulder. She starts, and turns around, and we come face to face, wide eyed. We watch each other for a moment and she opens her mouth as I realize how much I must have changed to her. I was fifteen when she last saw me, a boy back then. I am eighteen now, and no longer a boy.

"Melchior." She says slowly. "Is that really you?"

I nod, a lump forming in my throat.

"You're so grown up." She says simply, putting a hand on my cheek. "So much older."

I smile slightly and nod again.

"I have missed you so much." She says, taking me into an embrace. I breathe in her smell of lavender and feel almost… at home. It's a nice feeling and I pull away to pick up a case.

"Come, Mama. We're going to miss the trolley."

She nods and follows me to the trolley stop.

We get home about half an hour later. Wendla and I chose our house because it was out of the way of the city and the port. We thought it would be a better place to raise Ilse.

"Oh, Melchior, this is lovely!" Mama says as we stop outside the house. I suppose it is lovely. A wooden cottage on the outskirts of Manhattan with climbing ivy attached to the wall and clipped rosebushes, covered in snow, in front of the porch, where there is a rocking chair.

"Come inside." I say, carrying three of her four cases up onto the porch and unlocking the door with a key. She opens it and steps inside.

"Melchi, this is splendid." She beams as she looks around the corridor and the living room. I hustle into the kitchen to dump her cases before we can take them upstairs into my bedroom, where she will be sleeping.

"Thank you, Mama." I say, taking off my coat and hanging it up.

"And where's Wendla?" She laughs, undoing hers. "Come, Melchi, I haven't seen her in years!"

I stop. "Wendla is…" I stammer, not knowing how to put it.

"What is it, Melchior?" She stops midway of putting her coat on the rack and eyes me worriedly.

"Wendla is… no longer here. With us…" I trail off, hoping that she'll understand.

Her eyes widen for a second and she rubs her cheek. "Oh… oh."

I nod once and she looks away, biting her lip.

"For how long has she been… gone?" She asks, her voice becoming distant as she walks into the living room.

"About eight months, Mama." I reply instantly. Once doesn't usually forget when they lose the most important thing to them.

She turns and starts to walk towards me, holding her hand out to put it on my cheek. "You mean to tell me that you have been taking care of your little daughter by yourself for eight months?"

"What else could I have done?" A lump is forming in my throat.

She nods and smiles. "I don't think that I have ever been so proud to call you my son."

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**A/N There we are! I wrote this ages ago, been meaning to upload it but I haven't been having the best time. They're making me edit chapter 12 and 15 of Martha!**

**Ughh, they're making me get rid of all my lime! -.-**

**ah well. Next chapter will follow! xx**


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